Crescendo
by Reminscees
Summary: Place your bets- Gilbert Beilschmidt and his man with the plan, Francis Bonnefoy, decide to rob the Edelstein casinos in Las Vegas, together with an explosive Arthur, Matthew and Alfred as getaways, an angry Swiss millionaire, Kiku as the electronic genius, a Chinese acrobat, and a chatty Polish inside man. Further complications- Edelstein is dating Gilbert's ex, Elizabeta.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter One:

Undecium.

Gilbert sighed and turned his head to look at the sky, New Jersey sky, he reminded himself, and inhaled the air, sticking his hand in the pocket of his suit, grey, and a little outdated, which was to be expected after spending half a year locked up and guttered inside of a prison, awaiting visits from his wife, or was it ex-wife? It didn't matter- All that mattered to Gil was that they never came.

"Ca va?"

Francis.

Standing outside of his dumbass car that just _screamed_ _'Hey, I'm not sure whether I'm attracted to you, but chances are that if you're moving and breathing and under 90 years old, it's a clear __yes__!_'.

Gilbert smiled in relief and walked quickly towards him, in that stupid classy black suit, probably imported from Paris, and black sunglasses and a sly smile that would have been offensive if he would have shown his teeth. He reached out his arms and embraced Gilbert, laughing shyly in his ear.

"Ca va. Ca va?" Gilbert grinned and replied.

"Oui, ca va." Francis said in a soft tone, and ran a hand through his conditioned locks. Gilbert felt a little sloppy, he was in need of some good pamper time. He mirrored his actions and got into the car with a grunt, it was a very low seat, and slammed the door loudly.

"Be careful, she is an antique." Francis scolded and ignited the engine.

"She?" Gilbert asked loudly and rested his elbow on the window.

"Mais oui." Francis began driving, and took a sharp curve away from the bareness of the gravel in front of the prison.

After some time, Gilbert broke the silence.

"Two questions- Where are you taking me?"

"Depends..." Francis trailed off, "I think you had another question, no?" With a knowing smile and probably a glint in his eyes, he couldn't tell due to the glasses.

"What do you say if I were to propose a caper?"

"So soon?" Francis replied with a fake gasp.

"Eager and glad to be back, old man." Gilbert said with a laugh.

"What do you plan to do?" Francis asked.

"Vegas." Gilbert stated bluntly.

"Vegas? You want to rob a casino or what?" He laughed.

"Yeah." He replied earnestly, "With a good team, we can do it. And a budget."

Francis sighed, debated the pros and cons of the proposal.

Cons- Prison.

Pros- It was _Gilbert_. How could he say no? He had recently taking a taste to wine tasting. _Wine tasting_. That was one step away from tacky sweater vests.

"I'm in." Francis resulted.

"That was fast."

"Well, it has been boring... You would want to do it where?"

After a pause, Gilbert muttered, "Edelstein."

"Are you after the money or the prize?" Francis asked, adjusting his glasses and inhaling sharply.

"What- What are you talking about?" Gilbert sat upright, staring at him.

"You know what I mean. If you had to choose between the two, I know which one you'd pick. But with a team, you have responsibility. You can't choose. She doesn't split. Money, my friend, does."

After a pause, Gilbert nodded.

"Yeah, I know. I get it. It's- It's the money." He swallowed.

A short pause. The car hummed.

"And pride?"

"Both." Gilbert replied a little too quickly.

"Good. If pride is involved, it will be fun. You will need a good team. Edelstein, he's, well- He's sharp.." Francis trailed off and raised his eyebrows.

"Get Zwingli and we're better." Gilbert stroked his chin a little.

"Zwingli?" Francis laughed, "You thought this through well."

"Well, me and block E weren't tight. I had time to think in isolation."

"You frighten me with your imaginary wisdom..." Francis leaned forward and looked at the road. He turned to Gilbert, asking a silent question.

"California." Gilbert elaborated, "It'll violate my probation but who the fuck cares? Americans, honestly..."

Francis laughed loudly and knocked his head back, Gilbert joining him as a chorus.

:::

Vash Zwingli, casino owner, Swiss. His parents and even grandparents were big in the business, but Edelstein ruined them. Zwingli now does small scale things, but is influential. His known grudge against Edelstein keeps him popular, as it was a popular hobby of many, especially rich bored men, to hate others.

Zwingli sat in his office, behind his dark brown lacquered desk, smoking a cigar. There was a small mountain goat out of gold as a paper weight, with little flowers embellished in it at the hoof. It had a horrible expression on its face, mirroring Zwingli's own, his mouth hanging open, with his eyebrows squished together.

"You want to do _what_?", The goat shook a little as Zwingli threw his fist on the table, and Gilbert stared at it. Zwingli dropped his fork in his salad.

He paused, and Francis took a breath to counter him.

"Lest we forget- Even if you make it out of the front door, you're still in the desert!"

Another pause.

"Metaphorically. There is- There's tarmac, isn't there? Concrete?"

He chewed, and Francis waited.

After a thoughtful 'hm' from Francis, they began.

He would unfold like putty in their hands.

"He's right,"

"Zwingli, you're right,"

"That's exactly what it is,"

"Pure ego,"

"Thank you,"

"Sorry we bothered you,"

They stood from their seats, with little mountain goat head arm rests in the same dark brown as the table.

Zwingli stared.

"Look, just out of curiosity,"

They stopped.

"Which casino was it?"

"Oh it's,"

"It's the Vienna, the Opera, and,"

"The Bellevedere Grande?"

"Oui,"

Clang.

The fork dropped again.

"Those are Roderich Edelstein's casinos." He resulted.

"Is that right?"

"That's right,"

He stood and followed them,

"Wait."

Gilbert laughed a little.

"You will need money. And a crew. A crew as insane as you are."

Francis shrugged.

"Who do you have in mind?", Zwingli continued.

:::

They ended up staying at Zwingli's mansion, and were currently sitting in his living room, on his crème sofa, papers splayed across the table, folders with faces and dates.

"We'd need a whole team," Gilbert started, "We've got an inside man."

Zwingli looked at him with expectant eyes.

"Some Polish little man, he is very amusing, talks a lot-" Francis explained.

"Can we trust him?" Zwingli interrupted.

"Always."

"How are his nerves?"

"Brilliant."

"Good." Zwingli nodded. "Who else?"

"The getaways are the twins, the blonde ones, you know them," Francis trailed off.

"The loud one's a big baby and the shy one's an asshole." Zwingli stated grimly.

"They're good. And down for it. They've spent too long being bored." Gilbert said with a laugh.

"Next we've got electronics. I met a man a while ago, he's new but he's golden. I've never met anyone like him. Japanese." He continued.

"An import?"

Ah, the Swiss.

"Yeah. Calm as _fuck_." Gilbert elaborated. Francis shrugged and agreed.

"Explosives?" Zwingli asked.

"Ah," Francis began, "I thought we might get our favourite little English man, I would have to visit him. He's touring America at the moment, New York now, I believe, but he misses the real jobs. He would agree in a heartbeat."

Gilbert snorted.

"Fly out today. There's a flight at 7." Zwingli said sternly. Oh, this would be interesting. Gilbert had never seen him so passionate.

"As a grease man, there's a circus in town near Vegas. We can find some poor fuck there."

Francis stared into his glass of wine and looked at his reflection.

He found that he looked absolutely ravishing in the light.

:::

In the basement of a bank in New York, Arthur leaned back against the shafts next to the vault, turning to face his accomplices with a smirk, his black leather jacket bunching up near the hand holding the switch.

"Alright chaps," He sighed, "Hang onto your knickers."

He pushed the button.

A ring of explosives around the vault detonated.

Perfect work, Arthur thought to himself, and stood up to enter it, skinny legs striking forward quickly.

The alarm sounded.

"Oh, leave it _out_," He complained loudly, and faced the other men, "You tossers! You had one job to do!" His eyes flared angrily, and the light created a horrible scowl on his face.

He missed the real work.

He even missed that stupid French man.

:::

Arthur was currently being grabbed rather harshly by an officer holding his arm facing the bank, back to the police car.

"Snackwell," A loud voice stated, and a non-uniformed man stepped forward, with a terrible fake American accent-

Oh.

_Oh_.

Arthur could have cried out of happiness.

.Not that he would have ever admit to it.

Prison could wait, thanks to this wanker, he ventured.

"Let me guess, simple G-4 mainliner, back-wound, quick fuse, with a drag under twenty feet?"

Wrong.

It _was_ a quick fuse, simple, too, but a 63.2467 _metres_ liner, not a G-4, and the drag was exactly 23.1538 _metres_, why use the damn stupidly _American_ system?

Francis stepped forward and looked Arthur directly in the eyes, and Arthur was fairly sure his expression was completely dumb founded.

"Did you search this person? And I mean _really_ searched, not just for weapons." Francis questioned, turning to face the officer. Arthur stared at his stupid beard. He felt angry at the innuendo. He didn't like innuendo coming from Francis.

He was a good fuck, though.

Just ugly and horribly French, too.

Not _really_ his type.

"Stand back." He instructed to the man, and Arthur debated on what Francis was even planning.

He soon found his answer to be that he was turned roughly and his front chest and face was hit against the car. Arthur defended himself. Francis breathed in his ear and just barely grazed his behind.

What an absolute arsehole, Arthur concluded, and angrily played along.

"Oi, here we go..." Arthur muttered.

"Go find Griggs, tell him I need to see him." Francis told the officer. Clever.

"Who?"

"Just find him, will ya?" He shouted, too loudly.

Horrible accent, really.

Francis leaned closer, and spoke into Arthur's ear.

"Bonjour, mon lapin." He told him under his breath, softly.

"Fuck off." Arthur replied, and he meant it. His fringe was in his eyes.

Francis pulled him up and took his arm, leading him away from the bank. Arthur turned and faced him, and promptly kicked him in the knee, handcuffs be damned.

"Is that the reward I get for saving you?" Francis shouted after him with a smile, Arthur had already waltzed away, independent as always.

"I don't need saving." Arthur replied and continued walking, he did not even bother to turn around again. He scorned at the floor.

"Yes, but you do need the key to the handcuffs."

Arthur stopped walking.

He turned around and walked towards him again.

The walk of shame.

Francis undid them in silence.

"Did you miss me?" He whispered.

"No." Arthur said, and for the second time today, he really meant his words. He turned and left Francis again.

"I've got work for you." He shouted to him.

Arthur stopped walking, licked his lips and looked at him expectantly.

"Vegas. Casinos. It will be fun."

"Gilbert's back, isn't he?" Arthur asked.

"Oui."

After a pause, he continues: "Come on, Arthur, we have had fun times together!"

"With too much wine."

Arthur looked at the ground, more specifically at a piece of gum. Francis looked at Arthur.

Arthur sighed and faced him again.

"Fine. It will be nice working with proper villains again."

"It will be." Francis replied, and watched as Arthur looked at his watch, expensive, probably bought in London, and then at the bank. He was waiting for something.

He wouldn't-

He didn't-

Francis shouted loudly, in the same American accent: "Everybody down, now!"

Both broke into a run as soon as the explosion of the sewage rattled the crime scene. It was more show than harm. Arthur wasn't a killer, we was merely a top of the notch theme. Francis laughs and Arthur smiles a little, his face is too calm, but then again, he's a little bit insane. Just the right of insane for the job. That's what made him good.

"They weren't expecting that shit." He mutters.

"Nice work." Francis says.

He means it.

Arthur stares and tries to read his expression.

He fails.

If he were good at it, he would do more with his life that explosions and dangerous things in a basement and fuck beautiful women and men.

"Thank you."

And Arthur means his words for the third time today.

It's probably a record, in his book.

Arthur sighs and walks forward, Francis following him.

"Vegas, then, eh?" Arthur asks.

"Indeed. Smoke?" Francis offers him a cigarette from the pack dug out from his coat.

French brand.

Arthur shrugs and answers with: "Don't mind if I do."

:::

Zwingli has rented out a large hall, a storage space, as it were, although it was presently filled with the team sitting on the couch, save for Arthur and Francis, the table laced with papers, maps, files, and there was a board in front of the seating arrangement. Gilbert was standing in front of the board.

Francis entered with Arthur. They had gotten the same plane back.

Gilbert hoped they hadn't fucked.

If they had, Arthur would be angry because it would never be anything serious anyway, and both of them knew it, which is why they had agreed to it in the first place.

Francis would just be too smug for Gilbert's liking because he got laid, and Gilbert didn't.

Alfred sat next to Matthew.

It was like a light bulb went off in his brain, and his mouth was wide open. Matthew looked at Gilbert in confusion. Gilbert stroked his chin and smiled.

Alfred saw Arthur. Arthur locked eyes with Alfred.

They held the contact for more than was needed.

Alfred was a small town boy from Idaho, _Idaho_, born to middleclass parents and lead a normal life. After high school, Matthew and him got bored, and well- They ended up here. Doing odd jobs, doing mostly barely legal or slightly illegal things. And here he was, staring at Arthur, the explosives genius, the beautiful genius, Alfred discovered, owned by rich parents until he, well, he probably got bored, too.

He was smart.

And hot.

And his eyes were so _damn_ _green_.

The way his pants were black and too tight on his long legs, the way his jacket moved, they way his black t-shirt was comfortably loose on his smallish chest-

Alfred was still staring when Arthur sat next to him, looking at him with offense and confusion, as if he were judging him. He licked his lips- He _licked_ his _lips_, _oh __Jesus__. _Alfred coughed and adjusted his 'USA' sweater.

His eyes were so intense it hurt to look.

Matthew jabbed him in his side.

Alfred jolted his attention to Gilbert and Francis, both standing next to the board.

"This won't be a piece of cake, and anyone who's not cool with that should leave." Gilbert began.

"Gentlemen, we'll be working in the Vienna, the Opera, and the Bellevedere Grande." Gilbert started, and pointed to the map stuck on the board.

"This is the vault of the Vienna. It's located below the strip of the casinos, and beneath 200 feet of solid earth. It safeguards every dime, nickel and goddamn quarter that passes through each of the three casinos above it. It's the safest vault in Vegas, probably second in the US and maybe third in the world. It's tough."

Pause for dramatic effect-

"And we're gonna rob it."

Arthur raised a dark eyebrow and then scoffed, the Polish man sniffed, even Kiku gasped a little.

"'S not exactly a smash and grab job...?" Alfred asked shyly and slowly. Arthur stared at him intensely.

"How do you do it?" He asked curiously.

"What?" Alfred replied intelligently.

"You're so observative, how do you do it?" Arthur said and placed his elbow on the back of the sofa they were sitting on.

Alfred almost choked on his own spit and Matthew laughed loudly.

"Okay, kids, bad news first. This place houses a security system that rivals most nuclear missile sites. First we have to get _within_ the casino cages, which, anyone will tell you, takes more than a smile."

"Next, through these doors," He pointed to another map, "Each has a six digit code changed every six hours. Past those lies the elevator. This is where it gets tricky."

"Oh joy..." Zwingli sighed.

"The elevator won't move without authorised finger print identification-"

"Which we cannot fake-" Francis elaborated.

"_And_ vocal conformation-"

"Which we cannot get-" Francis interrupted again.

"The elevator shaft is rigged with motion detectors, but once we get down the shaft, then it's a piece of cake. Just two more guards and the most elaborate vault door ever conceived by man." Gilbert looked at Francis who shrugged as a response.

Alfred pushed up his glasses and jumped up in his seat a little. Arthur thought it was painfully endearing. "Wait- Hold up. You said something about good news?"

"The Nevada Gaming Commission stipulates that a casino must hold enough cash to cover whatever chips it has on its floor. By law, on a fight night, like the day we're gonna rob it, there could be,"

Another pause.

"150 million."

Arthur's mouth opened a little and Matthew gaped as a response. Alfred laughed a little. Lukas whistled.

Francis pointed at him and exclaimed "Exactly."

"Any questions?" Gilbert asked.

The group shrugged and mumbled. Arthur crossed his legs and folded his arms, looked down, then raised his hand.

"Right- So, correct me if I'm wrong, but-", he began and sat upright, "If we were to hypothetically get in, through the security doors, and down the elevator we can't move, and past the guards with the guns, and into the vault we can't open, without being seen by the cameras. Say we do all of that. Would we just walk out with 150 million dollars on us without being stopped?"

Arthur's eyebrows were furrowed in concentration and annoyance. Alfred found it made his eyes brighter. He also thought that Arthur would probably have a real nice smile.

Francis shook his head a little and opened his mouth, closed it again, blinked, and finally resorted with a "Mais oui.".


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two:

Cum Familiari Instinctu

It was Francis's idea to do some reconnaissance at the Vienna, and he also set the roles and pairs of them.

Arthur was glad the first day we was left to simply discover which room Edelstein occupied and where his office was, as well as see if he could steal a master key of some kind. Just to be safe.

All he had to do was charm the receptionist and pose as one of the house's resident valets. She was pretty, with blonde hair and blue eyes.

His accent was considered exotic. _("Wow- So, you're like, British?" "Yes," "I'm so good with recognising accents, it's insane, right?" "Truly. I'm English, actually. You know... The English are known for their precision in laying out clothes and undressing." "Oh, my God!")_

It was easy, maybe even _too_ easy.

Definitely easier than expected, with Alfred as his 'partner' for the job.

All he had to do was agreed to let her abandon her position at the reception _("I don't know, I mean, my manager would be like, __super__ angry..." "Come on, love." "God, okay! I'm so wild! Where do I even get those crazy ideas from?"). _

Alfred soon discovered that the 'crazy idea' was the girl falling head over heels for Arthur, particularly his accent, similar to how Alfred had. He understood her. The girl was faster than he was, and definitely more successful in his aims. She had lead Arthur to the back room, and Alfred followed, but not before locking eyes and sharing a sharp smile with Arthur. Alfred died at the sight of his look. His eyes seemed darker than usual.

Too bad it wasn't directed at him.

The girl leaned over Arthur in the dark back room, between an aisle of bookcases in the near dark.

Arthur soon discovered that her key card was in the back pocket of her skirt.

Easy.

He grabbed it with slender fingers and expertise. The girl shrieked and giggled, and he chuckled, trailing his hands over her behind, then caressing her waist.

He slipped the card into Alfred's expecting hands hidden behind a bookcase with files in them. Alfred locked eyes with him again.

Well, then.

Alfred leaned his back against the bookcase, eyes on the girl's back and Arthur's face.

Arthur gaped and had to be careful not to blow his cover. The girl was fiddling with his hair, still talking about something. He didn't trail his eyes away from Alfred. His ears were ringing and he could hear his heartbeat, his breath hitching as the girl trailed her hands down.

He blamed Francis for the whole thing, really.

What happened next was shameful.

Alfred didn't move. He swallowed thickly and kept eye contact with Arthur. He blushed furiously.

The girl was babbling and Arthur grabbed her face and kissed her, long and hard, without soft and smooth lips and movements because Arthur was sharp, always sharp, with sharp vowels and words.

His eyes were briefly closed and then slowly opened, staring at Alfred.

Alfred couldn't breathe or move.

He stayed.

It dawned on him that he didn't even know his last name was, if he had any pets, if he had any siblings, and yet-

He stayed.

The girl talked about how it wasn't her first time and how she'd down it with _"like, ten other guys!"._

Arthur hummed in response and threaded his fingers in her hair, not breaking eye contact with Alfred. The girl trailed lower. She opened the fly of his pants and knelt down.

Arthur's mouth opened slightly and Alfred froze. Arthur was looking at him. He licked his lips. He moaned dirtily.

It was too damn hot in here.

He didn't even know the guy, and here he was, watching him get a blowjob from a girl neither of them knew. She looked like she was having the time of her life, though, and Arthur just seemed _filthy_.

The weird little moans and noises he made did more than just turn Alfred on, embarrassingly so.

It lasted long.

Arthur ended with a shout, more like a moan mixed with a grunt, and the girl jumped up with such vigour that Arthur laughed a little, and promptly grabbed her rear, pushing her back towards Alfred. He bit and kissed her shoulder, then opened his eyes to look at Alfred again, almost oddly possessively, yet in a silent plead to _get the hell out of here_ before she would turn around.

Alfred walked quickly, and the girl soon returned. Arthur kissed her knuckles and bid farewell, she blushed and loudly said bye. Arthur walked away to somewhere left of the reception. Alfred waited in the car they arrived in, Alfred's own, a red Chevy. Tacky, but adorable and _totally_ awesome.

He sighed and breathed.

He was a little _too_ physically excited from seeing Arthur like that. He whistled. His head hit his seat, and there would be a bruise there tomorrow. He still had the image of him in his head, and attempted to think of Mattie's rash last summer or his grandma or _something_ before Arthur came back and noticed. But he couldn't help filing the vivid pictures of Arthur in his brain-porn stash.

Arthur returned sooner than he had expected, and gracefully got in the car. Luckily, Alfred had calmed down. All he had to do was switch the radio on the weird Jesus people and look at a pack of old Danish tourists.

Arthur turned his head and looked at him. It was silent- The Jesus radio had been turned off some minutes ago by Alfred.

Alfred looked back. He swallowed thickly, and felt his face heat up.

"You stayed." Arthur resorted after a while of sitting next to him. He swallowed and looked oddly vulnerable and too young. Alfred didn't even begin driving. It was silent.

"I stayed." Alfred echoed quietly, exhaled, and started the car.

:::

When they came back, Alfred didn't look at Arthur, and neither spoke.

Arthur walked directly towards Francis, and whispered something in his ear. Francis's expression looked concerned, and he followed Arthur to a corner and they spoke in hushed tones.

Matthew was next to Alfred and followed his line of sight.

"Hook, line, and sinker, eh?" He asked with a smile. Alfred didn't smile back.

Matthew was immediately concerned.

"Matt- Matt, I-" Alfred began quietly, "Matt, I saw him get a blowjob from a receptionist and I don't know what his favourite colour is or- or last name, even."

"Well," Matthew began after coughing and recovering from the outburst of moral questioning by Alfred, "You're covering with him during sewage work. He's explosives, so he's going down there. Francis instructed you. He likes you. He also likes Arthur." Matthew whispered with a raised eyebrow.

Oh.

"He thinks you're a good match, he told me so, he cares for Arthur and wants him to be protected by a hero like you."

Matthew knew how to pull all of Alfred's strings.

"Hero?" Alfred perked up slightly.

"He knows about your work. The whole thing in Colorado that you did against Braginski."

The topic of Matthew's reasoning was the time Alfred had accidentally found himself inside Russian financial shark Ivan Braginski's country home in Colorado and stolen his prized 'Russian Flat Flounder Fish' that he had caught in Siberia, just out of spite for him. Braginski never knew it was him, and instead blamed his own sister. She had been complaining about its ugliness for a while, and Alfred agreed when he caught a proper look at it before burning it together with Matt in their Idaho home.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah." Matthew reassured him and clasped his back, laughing, "Just act normal."

"You make it sound so easy."

"Yeah, well, from what I heard from Francis was incredible. Arthur's the guy who blew up the precise amount of street around a truck filled with gold, the national bank in Paris. He drugged the driver with the precise amount it would need for him to be unconscious in the morning, disguised at the place he always got his morning beverage, and planned when it would kick in at the precise time there would be traffic. He then filled the gold into his car, and drove away, through a sewage pipe line, using the precise route it would be able to fit through. All alone. He's a precise guy. Don't mess with him." Matthew finished and drew a sharp breath.

"Wow. He's- He's insane." Alfred smiled dopily.

Matthew decided that Alfred should refrain from using the word 'insane' as such an endearing compliment.

"Insanely good at what he does." Matthew agreed.

:::

"So..." Alfred began in a whisper, "I've never been in a sewer!" He was crouched down next to Arthur holding a flashlight in the dark, pointed at the metal gutter, where Arthur was currently working, his slender fingers quickly yet efficiently working on the explosives. Alfred thought it was kind of magical.

"Congratulations." Arthur said dryly, eyes still focused on his work.

"Yup." Alfred whispered. After a pause, he continued, "You know, for a guy who-"

"Seek cover." Arthur interrupted in a stern voice and quickly stood to walk away, covering his ears. Alfred mirrored his actions, though with displaced certainty.

The gutter exploded in a quick and minimal fashion.

Classy.

"Wow." Alfred admired, as Arthur quickly grabbed the remains and threw them away somewhere. "You're brilliant." Alfred said with a grin directed at Arthur.

He missed the way Arthur blushed shyly and bit his lip. Arthur responded by jumping down in the sewer.

Alfred paused.

"What, are you scared of rats? The dark?" Arthur taunted.

"A little of both, yeah." Alfred admitted. He couldn't even see Arthur down there without light, he shown his flashlight and saw a angry and impatient and so _unfairly_ attractive Englishman.

He didn't move. Arthur sighed.

"Come on, now. Nothing will happen." Arthur began, "I'll protect you."

His words rung in his ears.

"Ha, I won't need protection!" Alfred's words sounded uncertain even to his own ears. He eventually jumped down, after noticing that if he were to stay up there too long, someone would notice. He didn't want to jeopardise the expedition and mission, after all.

"I'm a hero." Alfred said with a cocky smile, after he had jumped with a loud splash, getting Arthur slightly wet with dirty sewage water.

"Yes, yes, fine. Let's get going. Give me the torch." Arthur held out his hand and took the flashlight, and began walking through the water. He seemed unbothered by the smell.

"Jesus, it stinks!" Alfred said loudly, and Arthur angrily moved swiftly towards him, placing a gloved hand over his mouth.

"Just because we're underground does _not_ mean no one can hear you." He whispered.

They were a little too close.

Arthur backed away slowly and continued forward. Alfred sighed.

It would be a long night.

Arthur, Alfred soon discovered, knew his way around the sewage system a little too well.

"So," Alfred began quietly, standing next to Arthur, "You know you're way around explosives in a way that's like, insanely awesome, dude! Where'd you learn it? It's so awesome!" He said with a laugh, and meant it.

Arthur stared at him, then slowly replied. "I took chemistry for my A-Levels...?"

The way Alfred looked at him enlightened Arthur.

"In high school, for my diploma." He explained.

"Well, I took physics and astronomy and shit, and I'm not an astronaut! Mostly because of these," He pointed to his glasses.

"That's unfortunate." Arthur replied.

"It was my dream, but, hey. It doesn't always go to plan. I'm guessing if it did, then you would be doing somethin' else too." Alfred trailed off in shy curiousity.

"Indeed. I wanted to be a writer." Alfred looked at him invitingly, "Among other things. At first a writer, then a singer, then a singer in a punk band, then a singer and bassist in a punk band, then a writer again, and then something with chemistry and bloody _pyromaniacs_ and here I am."

"You could be a singing bass guitar playing explosives criminal, it happens." Alfred replied in a moving tone, trying to sound inspirational, but he laughed near the end. Arthur joined him shyly.

Arthur's laugh was wonderful.

"'It happens?' Do you know someone like that back in Idaho, then?" Arthur questioned with a slight smile. Alfred didn't wonder why he knew where he was from.

"Anything can happen in Vegas, baby." Alfred replied with a laugh and Arthur snorted.

'_Baby'_.

The flashlight flickered.

Alfred shook it a little.

It then went out entirely.

Alfred wondered what he did to deserve this.

He heard the rustle of clothing next to him, and was relieved to find that Arthur had a lighter with him. It wasn't much, but it was something.

The- literally- _only_ perk of being a smoker, Arthur thought with a sly smile.

"Should we go back?" Alfred questioned.

"I've done worse jobs. You should have seen Chicago in 2012. That was tricky. This is _nothing_. Remember that story, love?" Arthur replied, with a smile so cocky and sure it was almost frightened.

Alfred's breath hitched at the 'love'.

Damn him.

"Dude! That was awesome! I didn't know that was you?"

"And a lucky thing it is that you didn't. Otherwise I wouldn't be here, I'd be having a smashing time in cell block D." Alfred laughed at that.

Arthur stopped walking when they reached a wall, and he stroked his hand against it, eyes searching it, and thinking about something. Alfred stared at him. He looked pretty in the light.

Alfred really wanted to kiss him.

Fuck.

But it was a _sewer_.

Not exactly romantic.

Alfred coughed awkwardly.

Arthur hummed in response. He knelt down and took some more observations, then stood up and began walking back. Alfred followed him.

"I hope this was worth the trip, old man."

"I'm not old!"

"I wouldn't know. How old are you?"

"Barely twenty-three."

That was too young to be so familiar with dangerous explosives.

"Will ya look at that! Nineteen." Alfred gestured to himself.

That was too young to be involved in a heist as big as this.

They continued walking back in silence.

Arthur broke the silence and stopped walking. "Why did you stay?"

Alfred looked at him with intense confusion that made him look too vulnerable and young to be involved in this whole thing.

"You know what I'm talking about." Arthur continued.

Alfred stared at his feet.

"... Because I wanted to." He mumbled.

Arthur swallowed and looked up.

He was never good at affections.

"You hardly know me." Arthur spoke.

"Yeah, but I want to. That counts for something, right?" Alfred said with a lopsided smile.

"I suppose so." Arthur responded shyly, and continued walking. He was pleased to note that Alfred walked with him, right next to him.

He couldn't remember the last time he had been so comforted by a person. Probably Francis after he'd helped him with the whole issue of his father's con work and his mother's sudden death, his siblings disappearing, and the start of Arthur's new well paying job next to Bonnefoy and Beilschmidt and some other notable names.

In a way, he was proud of his work. He'd never hurt anyone, of course, he was clever. Fast. Efficient. A rare trait in professional criminal bashers. It had made him wanted.

And, _God_, it had felt so damn good to be wanted.

Once they had reached the gutter they had arrived from, Arthur looked at Alfred. Alfred looked back and smiled.

"Well?" Arthur expectantly looked at him.

"Well what?" Alfred asked.

Arthur sighed.

Rookies.

"Lift me." Arthur commanded, and Alfred backed away from the sudden request.

"Don't pull a face, how did you think we'd get back up there? It's not far. You're tall and strong," '_Unfairly so'_, Arthur mentally added, "It'll be easy."

"Okay." Alfred hesitantly said, and shyly walked towards Arthur. He rubbed the back of his neck and looked at the floor.

Damn his chivalrous personality.

_Americans_.

"Grab my thighs, one arm under another." Arthur instructed, and Alfred did as he was told. Arthur was surprised at just how strong he was.

"_Dude_, do you eat anything? You're as light as a feather!" Alfred mocked and Arthur scoffed as a response. Once his hands had reached the side of the gutter, he heaved himself up.

Alfred totally didn't stare at his ass.

Expect he did.

If Arthur noticed, he didn't care.

(He noticed.)

Arthur pulled Alfred up with some difficulties, he was heavier than he looked, the fool.

Arthur placed the reserved metal copy of the gutter on top of the gaping hole with graceful precision. Matt was right. The guy was precise.

Arthur looked at the gutter.

"We came, we walked, we conquered." Alfred said with his hands on his hips next to him.

Arthur scoffed, "You haven't seen _anything_ yet."

Arthur stood and Alfred lead them back to his Chevy, started the ignition, and drove back to the others in the warehouse.

"Merde, you lovebird smell horrible!" Francis exclaimed from his comfortable position on the sofa.

"Next time, you go, Frenchman. I'd like to see how far you'd get without me. _You_ came crawling to me in New York, don't you forget it." Arthur growled and walked forward to a desk, scattered with wires, diagrams, powders, and equations: The fetus of explosives. He sat down and began writing, he was right-handed, Alfred noted, and his hand ran through his hair, and just stayed there, with his elbow resting on his table.

Alfred drew a chair and sat opposite him.

Arthur paused and looked up at him.

"... What are you doing?" He questioned slowly and quietly.

"Watching you- Work! Just- Watching you work. But- But only because I, uh, I think chemistry and science and shit is super cool." Alfred trailed off.

"'Super cool'?" Arthur echoed.

"I said as much in the sewer... I took physics. I also took chemistry. I wanted to take both but I couldn't take physics, chemistry, and astrology, you could only take two sciences." Alfred admitted.

"...Okay." Arthur said after his eyes trailed back to his papers and licking his lips. He got back into his position and continued, effectively ignoring Alfred. Alfred looked at him.

He was good.

Alfred felt completely useless and talentless compared to all these amazing people.

"Say, Alfred?" Arthur began and Alfred snapped his head up to look at him instead of the grey floor. He was a prettier sight anyway. "Just how much do you know about chemistry?"

"Took a semester of it at college. And then I snuck into Matt's." Alfred said with a lopsided smile.

"Ah," Arthur replied, "That's more than I ever did. Look over these, then? Do you know anything about explosive and pyro-chemistry, by any chance?" Arthur felt stupidly shy. He didn't have any degree in chemistry, or any degree. The only experience he has was sheer dumb love for explosives, trial and error, and the hope of _not_ getting your head blown off.

"Yeah, yeah. Just gimme." Alfred reached his hand out, and smiled at Arthur. Arthur smiled back, digging in his jacket for a cigarette and his lighter. He smoked and continued writing, and Alfred made small corrections and discussions about Arthur, learning more about his experiences with his work in the process. He also learnt a lot of about Arthur. Like the whole thing of how he got started, and the thing with Francis, and that he could knit and embroider, and that he loved reading, and that his favourite colours were dark green, blue, and black, and that he could play piano and a little bit of violin and liked to write. Arthur learnt that Alfred had a dog back in Idaho at his parent's place, and that he played guitar, and that he like nuclear physics, the idiot treats his amazing understanding of it as a _hobby_, and that he loved his old Chevy, and that he liked to eat, and that _his_ favourite colours were emerald green and red, and of course blue and white, mostly because he liked nature and forests, and also his country. He liked flying. He liked freedom. Arthur didn't discover that he also liked Arthur quite a lot. Arthur was up there with all of those things.

Francis, from his seat on the sofa, could see the whole dilemma. He, for the first time, felt proud of his accomplishments. He liked to see Arthur so happy and relaxed, and Alfred mirrored his actions. They complemented each other in a strange way, but it seemed natural. Francis could tell. He laughed and took a sip of his wine.


End file.
